


we are the wild youth

by noodlebunny



Series: hanging in the stars [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/F, F/M, I know it’s 1914 but homophobia? who’s that bitch?, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, background al/mei, background paninya/winry, background royai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-23 05:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12499880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlebunny/pseuds/noodlebunny
Summary: Ling didn’t look fifteen. He looked like six feet of smooth marble sculpted by gods, while Ed looked like a twelve year old with an expression that suggested he had perpetual stick up his ass.Ed doesn’t have a soulmate, and he doesn’t want one, thank you very much.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> let me preface this with two things:  
> 1) i love edwin and edling equally. parts of this fic were literal torture to write because of this fact  
> 2) i dont like soulmate aus. i don’t like fluff. I don’t like shippy fics. i don’t know why I wrote this, but oh, the things one does at 3 am
> 
> woot woot here’s my second fic ever!! im thinking it’ll make three chapters. I hope someone enjoys it?? title is from the song “youth” by daughter, because apparently I can only name things after emotionally impactful songs

At seven years of age, Edward was of the opinion that school was for losers and idiots who still had to learn to read properly. Y’know, people thick in the head, those sorts. By which he meant everyone else who wasn’t him. It was this notion that prompted him to skip classes, dragging an increasingly reluctant Alphonse with him. Winry trotted at his side, just as bored with school as he, and they settled on exploring the creek near her house.

“What d’you think your mark will look like?” said Winry as she stood, barefoot, in the shallow water. The the current was pleasantly warm under the midday August sun.

Ed, sitting cross-leaded on the bank, looked up from the book in his lap. Slowly, he finished chewing his bite of apple, and said, “Cooler than yours, that’s for sure.”

“Hey!” yelled Winry at the exact same time Al said, “That’s not very nice, brother.” Ed stuck his tongue out at both of them. Winry shot him a dirty look.

“My parents’ marks are brown. They have them on their hands.” Winry crouched to inspect a pretty rock.

Ed shrugged. “Marks are kinda stupid.”

“Stupid?” Winry made a face. “They’re fate. That’s not stupid.”

“Mom and dad didn’t have matching marks,” said Al. He wiggled his toes in the water.

“Mom and dad lasted a few years before he left her,” grumbled Ed.

Winry _hmphed_. “Well, regardless, when I get my mark, it’s—”

Just then her words were cut off by a sharp cry as she doubled over, knees cracking against the rocks. Water soaked her dress. She clutched her hand, gasping.

“Winry!” cried both the brothers, frightened voices mingling into one. They rushed to her side. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, silver tears gathering.

“It hurts!” she said.

Ed tried to pull her up and drag her to shore, feet slipping on the slick rocks, but she shook her head and stayed firm. Water frothed around Ed’s ankles and Winry’s knees, bubbling like broth on the stove.

“What’s wrong with her?!” cried Al, panic lacing his small voice. Ed was reminded of the day they found their mother’s body sprawled on floor of their home. Al had said the same thing then too.

“M’fine, it’s — it’s starting to hurt less. Ow, ow, ow...” Winry trailed off, nursing her hand. The brothers exchanged worried looks. Just then, Winry squealed, startling them both.

“What’s wrong now, you—” Ed was cut off as Winry grabbed him by the hand and yanked him down until he was kneeling too.

“Ow, what the hell, Winry?!”

“Look! Just look at it, Ed!”

She held out her right hand. Covering most her palm, where the flesh had just minutes ago been light pink, was a splotch of cobalt blue. It could almost be shaped like a rose if looked at at the right angle.

Ed exhaled. “It’s—”

“My mark,” finished Winry.

“It’s so pretty!” said Al.

“Kinda funny how it appeared just as you were talkin’ about marks,” mumbled Ed.

Winry smiled faux-innocently at him and put on that haughty voice. “It’s fate, obviously.” He rolled his eyes and she grinned.

“I guess that argument over who would marry Winry was pointless after all,” said Al.

“I wonder what my soulmate will be like,” said Winry. She had this dreamy expression on her face.

“Just as lame as you, probably.” Ed climbed back onto the bank. His shoes were soaked through.

“You’re just jealous I got my mark first.”

“Am not! Soul marks suck, anyways. There’s no point to them! How do they even work? It’s not very scientific—”

“Whatever, Edward. You’re definitely jealous,” Winry said.

“You are kind of red right now, brother,” Al said. The traitor.

“Ugh. You _both_ suck,” said Ed, turning away to hide the furious blush rushing to his cheeks.

* * *

They sat across from each other on the small twin sized bed. Between them, a lamp flickered, casting yellow light across the tomes on both their laps. They read in silence.

Ed couldn’t focus on the words. Every few seconds, he stole glances at his brother. At the new shape on his cheek.

Alphonse was nine. He was nine, and just that day while they’d been training with Teacher, his mark had manifested. Only small, just under his left eye, it was roughly star-shaped with seven points. In the light, it shone like polished gold.

It was beautiful.

Eventually, Al sighed, and said, “Stop staring like that, brother. You’ll get your mark soon.”

“Not staring.”

“You are.”

Ed slammed the book shut. “I don’t want a mark anyway.”

Al shot him a look. They’d had this conversation before. Ed always insisted that marks were unscientific, useless, but Al knew that was only the half of it. Most people had a mark by the age of ten, which Ed already was. To manifest one later than that, while not unheard of, was extremely rare.

“The chances of never manifesting a mark are one in five hundred million,” said Al, reciting the memorised fact, not for the first time.

“I know that! I’m not worried about not getting a mark.”

“Uh-huh.”

Edward bristled and swung himself off the bed. “I’m going to wash.”

The door closed behind Ed a little harder than normal. Al shook his head, turning back to his book. Human transmutation research wouldn’t do itself.

* * *

At the age of twelve, Ed watched his house burn. He watched tears track down Winry’s cheeks, glowing like molten metal in the firelight. He thought of taking her hand, how warm it would feel in his. He almost did.

The blue mark on her palm stopped him. It wasn’t his place.

In the glow of early morning, he and Alphonse boarded a train for East City. Neither of them bore soul marks.

* * *

Life as a military dog was strange. Not always unpleasant, but strange. There were some perks — both the funding and the ability to flash a watch and get whatever he wanted. Ed got the feeling that Al thought it was a power that should never have been granted to a twelve year old.

The downsides included having Colonel Mustang as his commanding officer. Hell, the amount of time he was forced to spend in the bastard’s presence was unbearable. It did, however, lead to a lot of observing. Noticing. Watching the way the man worked and talked and interacted with his team. Most noticeably with one First Lieutenant Hawkeye.

After a year of observing the pair, Ed waited until he was alone in the office with the Lieutenant. He pushed down his building nervousness. If he didn’t do this now, the curiosity would eat him alive. Not knowing stuff wasn’t his deal.

“Does he know?” said Ed. The silence of the room seemed to swallow his words.

“Does who know what?” said Hawkeye, tone carefully calculated.

“Mustang. Does he know that your soul marks match?”

Hawkeye’s breath hitched, her controlled facade slipping just slightly before being built back up like it had never dropped. “What makes you think our marks match?”

Ed shifted. “I dunno. The way you act around each other. You both wear high necked things under your uniform. The marks are probably on your necks, right?”

The startled shock on her face moulded into amusement. “Observant.” She went back to writing, and said, “Yes, he does know.”

“Then why aren’t you together?” said Ed. The rest of it he’d been mostly sure of, but this was the element that stumped him.

“You’re a smart boy, Edward,” Hawkeye said. She pushed her chair back with a jarring scrape and collected her papers. As she strode out the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “But you’ve got a lot to learn.”

Ed sat there for a while afterwards, thinking about what Hawkeye’s smile meant and why he was even more confused than before.

* * *

Sunshine filtered through her hair like light through buttercup-yellow curtains. She smelled of apples and cut grass and machine grease. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks like a butterfly’s wings.

Ed couldn’t stop staring from where he lay on the bed. Winry worked on his outstretched arm, eyes cast downwards and muttering about his poor maintenance skills. He hadn’t seen her much since he left — at fourteen years old and on the verge of fifteen, this was only about his third visit home.

Eventually, she seemed to notice his staring at her hand and the mark it bore. She averted her gaze.

“Has yours manifested yet?” she said, voice unusually soft.

“No. Not yet.” He didn’t like saying it out loud. It made it seem real.

“It’ll happen, Ed. It will.” She sounded like she was convincing herself.

“Yeah.”

The quiet between them stretched, only small clanks as Winry worked preventing it from becoming deafening. Ed curled his toes, clenched his flesh fist, and said, “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s never good.”

Ed glared with no real heat. Winry forced down a smile. She looked beautiful when she did that. Angelic.

“I’ve been thinking,” he continued, pretending she hadn’t spoken, “about marks. And I was thinking — it’s possible, isn’t it, for someone’s mark to manifest at a different time than their soulmate’s?”

The metallic clanks stopped. Silence blanketed the room.

“Yes, I think so,” said Winry, trepidation thick in her voice. “Most the time, matched marks manifest at the exact same time. My parents were in class as kids when theirs’ appeared. But there have been exceptions.”

“Right.” Ed swallowed. Dark pink painted his cheeks. He closed his eyes and, resigning himself, let the words tumble from his mouth. “Your mark is on your right hand, and... and I was thinking that — that there could be a chance mine would’ve been too, if I — if I hadn’t lost it. My hand.”

Winry’s mouth made soundless shapes, her face as crimson as the tomato harvest. Then, she said, “What are you saying?”

“I like you. A lot.” Ed wanted to smack himself. _I like you a lot_. Really? He imagined the ground swallowing him up and erasing his entire existence. “As in — soulmates. We could be soulmates. Maybe.”

“Oh,” said Winry.

Ed didn’t dare open his eyes. A hand, calloused and nicked in so many places, touched his cheek and nudged him until he faced her. Slowly, slowly, his eyes cracked open, and Winry was smiling while light framed her head like a halo.

“I like you a lot too,” she said.

* * *

The more Ed thought about Winry and her stupid face, the more certain he became that she was his soulmate. Surely, there was nothing else it could be; the way his insides turned to gooey honey when he saw her was telling enough. He found himself thinking of more and more excuses to go for maintenance on his automail. If he let it get busted up more often, or didn’t quite dry it as thoroughly as he should after showering, no one needed to know.

They kissed for the first time when Ed turned fifteen. The sun was ferociously warm as it beat down, but she was warmer. It wasn’t a very good kiss, because neither of them had any experience with anything of the sort, but Ed’s head spun regardless. They laughed together and fell back onto the grass as a light breeze ruffled their hair.

He didn’t tell Alphonse about him and Winry and whatever it was they had, but he was fairly certain his little brother had an inkling of what was up anyways. He didn’t mind. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to spill the secret-not-secret to Al yet — if he said it out loud, the dream would be snatched away like a toy from a toddler.

Right after the fight at the Fifth Laboratory, they passed through Rush Valley. Ed’s watch was stolen by some low-life pick pocket called Paninya, and when they finally caught up to her, it was Winry who managed to grab a hold of her.

Ed saw the cobalt blue rose on Paninya’s right hand and the world crumbled around him.

Winry and Paninya clicked in an instant. And suddenly, Ed understood that what he and Winry had wasn’t the bond of soulmates, because watching the two girls together was like witnessing two halves of a whole unite. The feeling that were meant for each other was so heavy that he could taste it, sickly sweet. Overpowering like fragrant roses filling his lungs until he choked.

“I’m sorry,” Winry said later that day. She’d repeated it so many times already it felt hollow to Ed’s ears. “I really am, Ed.”

“Were you pretending when you smiled around me?” He didn’t want to let hurt slip into his voice. Guilt tripping was a shitty move.

But still.

“Of course I wasn’t!” Winry looked put out at the mere notion of it, puffing out her cheeks. That’s the expression she used when she was telling the truth, Ed knew. There was some relief in that. “I enjoyed everything we had. I promise I did. But Paninya, she’s...”

“Your soulmate.”

“Yeah.”

Winry looked guilty. Shit, Ed hadn’t meant to do that.

“You’ll find yours, Ed. Like you said — your mark could’ve been meant to manifest on one of the limbs you lost.”

Ed nodded mutely. He cleared his throat.

“Hey.” He pulled lightly on her ponytail and as she slapped his hand away, he grinned a little sheepishly. “We’re still friends, right?”

Winry blinked, and as she yanked on his braid in return, she laughed and said, “The best of friends.”

Seeing Winry happy made Ed happy. Not many found their soulmates so young. She really was lucky. So he watched on, smiling for her, and if he felt any hopelessness in his heart, hopelessness that his worst fears were cemented and he was markless — well.

No one needed to know.

* * *

It was on a different trip to Rush Valley that more shit went down. Shit was always going down, it seemed.

The shit started when Alphonse found a man passed out by the road. Al was always finding things by the road, so Ed wouldn’t normally be phased, but a human being was a new one for the list. They decided to buy him lunch — it was Al who decided, really, because Ed was more than happy to leave the guy there and let him die. Al scolded him for that.

The guy ate so much food that even Ed was disgusted and maybe a fraction impressed. Turned out his name was Ling Yao and he had recently crossed over from Xing. He sat with his legs crossed on the chair and pulled sticks from his pocket to eat with rather than the provided fork — seriously, what the fuck? Ed and Al exchanged a look.

“So,” said Ed after the food was finished. He didn’t want to think about the bill. “Cool tattoo.” He gestured to the pattern on Ling’s chest, great black splotches like wings drawn with a pen dipped in too much ink. They were symmetrical, starting from the centre of his collarbone and covering the top half of his chest.

“Hm, this?” said Ling, pulling his jacket open a little wider to show it off better. The tips of the wings appeared to extend onto his arms somewhat. “Thanks, but it’s not a tattoo.”

“Oh. Then what...?” said Al, tone politely curious. Ling smiled, closed eyes curving upwards.

“It’s my soul mark.”

Ed choked on his water. It spilled out his mouth and he wiped the dribbles off his chin with one hand.

“It’s fuckin’ huge!”

“Hm. I’ve been told it’s a little larger than average, yes,” said Ling, voice carefully oblivious. Ed didn’t like the implication in his words and Ling only smiled wider at him when he narrowed his eyes.

“Um, no offence, Mister Yao,” said Al, “but it’d be easy to cover it. Why don’t you?”

Ling cocked his head to the side and Ed was reminded of a dog, or maybe a bird. “Why would I want to cover it?”

“Dunno what it’s like where you come from, but over here most folks keep their marks hidden if they can,” said Ed, picking at the leftover food on his plate.

“That’s a rather strange custom. How will you know if someone’s your soulmate if you don’t see their mark?”

Ed shrugged. “I guess you’re just supposed to... feel it? Like, in your heart? Soul? I wouldn’t know.” He pushed the food around, staring determinedly downwards. Al shifted beside him. He looked up, and Ling was gazing at him curiously, eyes open slightly for the first time since he’d met him. For some reason Ed didn’t understand, he flushed.

Al coughed, catching Ling’s attention. Ed loved his brother so damn much.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?” Al said. It was a weak question, but Ed was grateful for anything that would divert Ling’s attention.

“Oh! I’m fifteen,” chirped Ling. Ed choked on his water again.

Ling didn’t look fifteen. He looked like six feet of smooth marble sculpted by gods, while Ed looked like a twelve year old with an expression that suggested he had perpetual stick up his ass. Later, after Ling had tried to have his lackeys literally _kill him_ , Ed lamented over this fact to Alphonse, who only laughed like it was the funniest fuckin’ thing he’d heard in years.

“Whatever,” grumbled Ed into his pillow. “He’s a weirdo, anyways. What the hell kinda sane person walks around with their chest out?”

“Oh, I don’t know, brother,” said Al in between laughter. “You didn’t seem to mind it. Actually, I think you were enjoying it a little, if anything—”

“Shut up before I _make you!_ ”

Al only laughed harder. If Ed fell asleep thinking about Ling and his annoying smile and excessively flashy soulmark — well.

No one needed to know about that, either.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it should be noted that i have very little idea what im doing
> 
> i did some doodles for this fic but please be warned that my art hurts the eyes: https://bubblingtee.tumblr.com/post/166860049068/art-for-that-trashy-edling-fic-im-writing-bc-i
> 
> i hope this chapter is alright!! it’s kinda short sorry hahhh

Upon their return to Central, Ling pissed off immediately. His royal bodyguards or whatever were worried sick looking for him, but Ed really couldn’t care less about where the prince was passed out this time.

He really couldn’t.

He didn’t see Ling for a while after that. Which was just as well, because he was annoying and clingy and much too tall for his age. Ed was glad Ling was gone.

He really was.

When Ed did finally encounter Ling for the second time, it was only a fleeting moment, a coin tossed into an ocean. It was in a grimy Central alley wherein Ling was with questionable company that included escaped fugitive Maria Ross and the disembodied soul of a serial killer.

“Ling!” Ed yelled. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Ling grinned apologetically and said in that annoying voice of his, “Hey, Ed! No time to explain. Sorry!” He took off running, leaving Ed shouting at his retreating back.

It wasn’t that Ed was disappointed Ling hadn’t stuck around longer.

It really wasn’t.

———

Ed’s fate as markless seemed sealed. It was an embarrassing thing to think about, hot shame curling in his belly when the topic was brought up. Al and Winry were the only ones who knew, of course, but the pitying looks they shot him when marks were mentioned brought bile into the back of his throat.

It wasn’t as if Al had it much better. He knew he had a mark, his golden star, but without his body he had no way of proving to his soulmate that they matched if he were to meet them.

“It’s okay, brother,” said Al, “I don’t need something like a soulmate right now. I have more important things to worry about.”

That didn’t make Ed feel much better. If anything, he felt considerably worse.

———

“That girl,” said Al. “The one with the pink clothes we fought today.”

“She did long distance alchemy, right? With the knives,” said Ed as he scribbled into his journal.

“Did you see it, on her cheek?”

Ed’s pen stilled. He thought about lying, but dismissed it quickly, and said, “Yes.”

“A gold star.” Al’s voice was quiet, almost trembling.

“You think that’s she’s your...?”

Al shifted. He stroked the black and white cat-thing he’d managed to pick up from somewhere. Again. “Maybe. I didn’t see her mark properly.”

“Did you... feel anything?” Ed gripped his pen hard enough to ache.

“I don’t know if I can, in this body. It doesn’t matter anyway. She probably wasn’t my soulmate.”

Ed nodded uncertainly and returned to his writing. The obvious lie sat oppressively heavy on the both of them.

———

Ed watched Ling from across the cramped room. The prince sat with his hands clasped in front of his face, every part of him shaking slightly like a cold breeze was breathing down his neck. His eyes were, for once, wide open and staring blankly.

Another scream pierced the house from the next room over. Ling flinched, just as he had every other time.

“It hurts!” It was one of the only things Lan Fan had managed to get out coherently, muffled by the walls separating her from them. Ling looked like he might be sick.

Ed tore his gaze away from the sight. He knew exactly what it was that both Ling and Lan Fan were feeling — the loss of his own limbs still seemed fresh, and if he thought about it enough, he was eleven again and drenched in blood, raw pain sparking through his veins. He understood what it was to be on the other side of the door too. The awful dread that came with waiting to find out if the person in the bed would survive the night.

His mother didn’t make it. He hoped with what little he had left that Lan Fan would.

She hadn’t looked good, from what Ed had seen. He’d only had a glimpse of her, but her bandages were soaked deep red, her eyes glazed. He barely noticed at first, though, because he was focussed on something that had seemed far more important at the time.

The inky black wings spread over her chest like a bird in flight.

Ling’s mark.

They were soulmates, the prince and his bodyguard. Ed felt stupid for not seeing it earlier; it was desperately obvious, their connection, just like Winry’s and Paninya’s. You’d have to be an idiot to miss it.

Ed was such a fucking idiot.

He wanted to comfort Ling, cross the short distance between them and tell him it was going to be okay.

But it wasn’t his place. He felt something painful in his chest with that knowledge. Some kind of disappointment that left him dizzy and disoriented, scrambling for purchase in his own mind.

He didn’t understand it.

———

Blood dried on every inch of exposed skin, and then on his clothes too, only to be washed off moments later by more wet blood. It caked in his hair and layered on the small of his back, plastering cloth to skin. The ground crunched underfoot. Ed could only assume it was from bones, but with the deep sea of blood covering it, he could almost pretend each crack was anything but.

What a thought. It felt like the only thing keeping him sane.

Ling groaned, feet dragging. Ed glared at him. For however long they’d been trapped in Gluttony’s stomach — it could have been hours just as easily as days and Ed would have been none the wiser — Ling had been making a show of how awful everything was. Ed didn’t need reminding.

And then Ling collapsed, and Ed tried not to care, he really did, but concern wrapped itself around his heart like a vice, threatening to stop its beating if he didn’t do something soon.

He hoisted Ling over his shoulder. He smelled of blood and sweat and dirt. It took all Ed had left not to think about how warm he was, how his hard stomach pressed against Ed’s shoulder, how his ass was literally right by his face. He was suddenly glad that the blood encrusting his cheeks hid his blush.

About two steps in, Ed tripped. Unable to throw his arms out to take the impact, he fell flat on his face. It was horrifyingly undignified, and even Ling, who had just a moment ago been _unconscious_ , managed to snort at him.

Ed should have just left the asshole there to drown or starve or go mad. He wanted to, dammit.

The vice around his heart said otherwise.

An hour later, maybe longer, they sat by the small fire they’d built, Ed forcing down his last chunk of shoe. Grimacing, chucked the metal dish aside. Ling was long finished with his and lay on his back, eyes shut as if in sleep.

Entirely against his will, Ed found himself enraptured by the way the firelight flickered over Ling’s sun-kissed skin, illuminating him in hues of burnt orange. He watched, lost, as Ling breathed deeply and his throat bobbed. His hair was splayed about him, strokes of dark paint.

Ed swallowed, throat dry and rough like he’d swallowed a handful of nails. His mouth still tasted faintly of leather.

“Is Lan Fan your soulmate?” Ed resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but his mouth and the heart controlling it were traitors.

Ling looked over to him. The warm light shifted on his face as he moved, dispelling shadows. His expression was unreadable. Ed squirmed under the weight of it.

“Yes,” said Ling, gently curved lips barely moving, “she is.”

Ed didn’t know what he’d been hoping for. He didn’t even know why he asked if he already knew the answer.

So why did it still hurt?

———

He didn’t like Ling. He wasn’t hoping for anything with Ling. Ling was annoying and only a little bit attractive. Ling ate too much food and he definitely didn’t look beautiful doing it.

All around, Ling sucked and Ed most completely and utterly liked Ling.

When they fought Envy’s true form — and wasn’t that a sight to behold? Ed would have another thing to add to the list of traumatising events that kept him up at night, which was just great, really — Ling moved like a shadow. Every movement was a step in a dance to music Ed couldn’t hear. His stomach did flips, and he wasn’t sure if it was from watching Ling fight or the way Envy was tossing him around like a rag doll.

Each time Ling shouted Ed’s name as they fought together, voice saturated with panic and fear and worry, all for him, all for Ed, he couldn’t help but savour the way it sounded on Ling’s lips. He could almost forget that Ling had a soulmate and Ed was markless.

Almost.

———

The air was cold enough to send aches up his stumps, numbing them like icy water on bare skin. He groaned and rubbed circles into the flesh where the ports attached.

“What the fuck’s up with you?”

Ed glared at Greed. It was definitely Greed who had spoken, not Ling, because while Ling was annoying, he wasn’t a complete asshole. Greed, in every aspect of how he spoke and acted and generally existed, was the worst kind of asshole.

God, Ed missed the days when Ling didn’t share a body with the personification of avarice.

“Two of my limbs are made of metal and we’re sat outside in the middle of fuckin’ winter. The fire’s almost dead. Take a guess what’s up, smart ass,” snapped Ed. He winced as more aches laced under his skin. Whoever it was that said pain hurts less the more you feel it was full of shit and had obviously never been dismembered.

Ed fully expected Greed to come up with some dickish retort, yet he only stared at Ed through narrowed purple eyes. It was creepy, but on Ling’s face, it was kinda hot. Ed kicked himself internally.

The silence lapsed on. As did the staring. Ed tried not to squirm and let Greed know his discomfort, because then he’d never hear the end of it. He focused on the way his breath clouded before his face in dense white clouds, opaque as smoke before being consumed by the night. More than anything, he wished Darius and Heinkel would return with firewood already and save him from this awkward hell. He was inescapably aware of the way Greed’s eyes fixated on him.

He was so focused, in fact, that he didn’t see Greed next to him until the crack of a brittle branch underfoot alerted him. If he let out a surprised squeak, only he and Greed needed to know, which was already two more people than necessary.

He did, however, let out a noise much louder than a squeak as Greed slumped down next to him.

“What the fuck are you doing, ass—”

“That’s no way to talk to a friend.”

Ed blinked once, then twice, and said, “...Ling?”

“Yup!” piped Ling, peppy voice a stunning contrast to Greed’s apathetic one. It was infuriating and annoying and definitely not adorable.

“You’re in control now? Not Greed?”

“I am.”

“How?”

Ling looked quizzically at Ed like he had just said the strangest thing. “I asked him, of course.”

“Right.” Of course.

Ed didn’t know whether to relax or tense further. Ling didn’t seem to care, because he nestled closer until their sides pressed together; he was warm enough to make Ed gasp at the sudden change in temperature. Ling smelled of fire smoke and fallen leaves and the last of the canned rations. It shouldn’t have smelled as good as it did.

“What are you doing?” Ed said. His voice barely even trembled.

“You’re cold, right? I’m sharing body heat to warm you up.” Ling turned slightly, studying Ed’s face. “What’s that look for?”

“When did your mark manifest?” Ed really, really hated the fact that there was no filter between his mind and his mouth.

Ling tilted his head in that dog-bird like way. “Hm. When I was four, I suppose? Younger?”

“That’s — that’s pretty young.” Ed suddenly felt too hot, unable to dispel the feeling of Ling’s shoulder against his.

“How old were you when you got yours?”

_Lie. Lie and tell him you were ten or some bullshit. Don’t let him know the truth. Lie, lie, lie—_

“I didn’t.”

The world stilled. Ed could hardly breathe through the bile in his throat, choking him, making his heart beat erratically, pumped full of fear. It wasn’t that he feared rejection or disgust — not completely, but there was always that part of him that whispered that if he was disgusted with himself then surely everyone else must be too — but pity.

Pity had been his closest friend since he was eleven, the shadow chasing his heels and coiling around his neck. No amount of white gloves and long sleeves seemed to change that. There was something in his eyes, Al told him once, that marked him as someone who’d seen something akin to hell. People didn’t need to see the steel screwed into his flesh or his markless body to pity him.

“You... don’t have a mark?”

Ed didn’t look at Ling. He couldn’t.

“No, I — it never manifested.” He was going to throw up.

“Do you want it to?”

“Of course I do.” What a stupid question. “Fuck, of course I do.”

“Why?”

Something like annoyance, frustration, _anger_ reared its ugly head within Ed. What kind of questions were these? What did Ling expect him to say? _Oh, no, I’m completely content with being alone for my entire life._

“Because it’s — fate. It’s fate. Everyone’s supposed to have someone they’re supposed to be with. What does it make me if I don’t even have that?” The words tore his throat to shreds as he shouted them.

Ling’s breath was warm against Ed’s skin as he learnt forwards and whispered against the curve of his neck, “It makes you free to choose.”

Tenderly, like Ed was porcelain who might shatter at a harsh touch, Ling cupped his palm against Ed’s cheek and tilted his head to face him. He leant forwards, their lips ghosting together. They were softer than Ed had imagined.

“You’re lucky, Ed, and you don’t even see it. You’re not bound by fate like the rest of us.”

Ling leant closer, his words dripping between them like syrup, eyes fluttering shut.

“No.”

Ling froze. His eyes snapped open, confusion palpable. His hurt was so raw that Ed almost let himself feel bad.

Ed pushed Ling away and staggered to his feet, the forgotten aches shooting through him with a vengeance and nearly forcing him to his knees. He heaved shuddering breaths. The world span.

“Ed?” Ling sounded small. Childish. The fifteen year old he was meant to be.

“You don’t know anything about me. Don’t act like you do.”

“What? Ed, wait, I—”

Ed turned on his heel and ambled on unsteady legs into the forest. The darkness swallowed him whole. Ling’s voice chased him even then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmm next chapters the last one... believe it or not but it’ll be even gayer
> 
> thanks for reading this far! comments and kudos are really appreciated!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ended up writing seven thousand words for this one.... uhhh it’s all very gay lads
> 
> ((how the fuck do u even write kisses... ive kissed people before but how r u supposed to translate that into words..... what the fuck........))
> 
> here’s the song this fic is named after its very hipster pls listen while u read: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=2QT5eGHCJdE

Ling didn’t talk to him after that night.

He looked like he might, sometimes. Like he wanted to say something to make everything better. Glares from Ed shut that down until, after a week, they barely looked at each other at all. Greed was in control almost all the time and Ling wasn’t even fighting it.

It was for the best.

Ed turned sixteen. Distantly, it occurred to him that if they failed to stop Father then Ling would never make it past fifteen. He found that desperately unfair, because even though Ed had grown some, Ling was still taller than him despite being younger; Ed would die not only a year older but also shorter. It was such bullshit.

On the night after his birthday, they caught a train to take them closer to Central — ‘caught’ being a loose term to describe stowing away in the carriage of a freight train. As usual, the two chimeras — Ed sometimes forgot their names, but they barely seemed to care — slept in another carriage, claiming they couldn’t stand the tension between Ed and Ling. There was no tension, Ed insisted. There was nothing between them.

Everything was the way it should be.

The carriage door was left open halfway, because even though the air was frigid as all hell, Ed couldn’t stand the caged-in feeling the space gave. He wanted to watch the stars, keep his bearings as the grassy landscape whirled past. He sat dangerously close to the edge, gaze lost in the inky sky, drowning in the overflowing rush of euphoria that the risk of it all filled him with.

“You shouldn’t sit so near to the door. If you fall out at the speed we’re going you’ll be dead in a second. It’d be unflattering.”

“Fuck off, Greed.”

“Close, but not quite.”

Ed tensed. The hills seemed to rush by faster than before. “Well, then, _Ling_ , don’t tell me what to do.”

“Is that your catchphrase? _‘You don’t know anything about me. Don’t tell me what to do.’_ ” Ling spat the words like they were bitter in his mouth, but Ed still didn’t turn around to face him where he sat at the back of the carriage. He bristled at Ling’s mocking imitation of him on the night of the almost-kiss.

“Actually, I said, ‘Don’t act like you do.’” Five words that had been festering in the back of his head for a week. Of course he wouldn’t forget them.

Silence. And then, in a voice that twisted something wicked sharp in Ed’s heart, Ling said, “Why?”

“Why what? Why are you so annoying? Maybe it’s because you don’t know when to shut the fuck—”

“Why did you push me away? I thought, I don’t know, that you liked me. I thought we had something.” That voice. It was cruel in its devastation.

“Because,” Ed started, suddenly realising he was clueless on what he was going to say, words spilling in fumbling torrents, “Because it’s all just pretending. You’re pretending we can have something and it’s not possible because you — you have a soulmate! I’m not playing along just so you can fuck around while you have someone else waiting for you. And all the bullshit about how I’m ‘free to choose’? Oh, fuck me, that’s fucking hilarious! The stupidest shit I’ve ever heard you say, seriously. I’m not meant to choose. That’s why it’s called fate, dickbag.”

There was a familiar press at the back of his eyes. Ed suppressed the impatient tears with practised ease. The train jostled as its wheels rattled and squealed, the noise roaring in his ears like drum beats in his head, increasing in tempo with every panting breath.

And then Ling was there, right across from him, legs crossed and observing the pinpricks of light from the valley town below. It was ghostly, the way he moved from place to place, like he was there but not.

“Ed,” he said, hushed. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Ed almost snapped. Almost said something else he’d have to live with for however long he had left, an amount of time that was looking shorter by the day. The rawness in Ling’s voice, in every line of his face, stopped him.

“Fine,” said Ed, glaring at anywhere but Ling. “Spill it.”

Ling breathed a sigh that sounded suspiciously like relief. Ed expected him to crack a stupid joke or say something idiotic in that awful Ling-like way.

But he didn’t. He swallowed, throat pale in the moonlight, and said, “In my country, our customs surrounding soulmates are a little different to yours.” Still, Ling didn’t tear his eyes from the scenery. “I’m a prince, as you know.”

“Yeah, I know, because you love shoving it in my face every—”

“Ed. Listen.”

Huffing, Ed muttered a flippant whatever. Ling’s lips twitched upwards so slightly Ed could almost have imagined it.

“As I was saying, I’m a prince. And as someone of such high status, there are certain — expectations placed on my, uh, marital status.” Ling fidgeted, uncharacteristically nervous. Then, quickly, like he was pulling a blade from a wound, he said, “Arranged marriages are pretty common.”

Ed felt his eyes widen involuntarily. The noise in his head got louder, faster. He couldn’t have spoken if he wanted to.

“The general rule is that unless you find your soulmate by fifteen, your parents can marry you to whomever they wish. Meet your soulmate after that and you’re screwed.” Ling barked a laugh that didn’t sound amused. “And we all know how rare it is to meet your soulmate that young.”

“Yeah,” said Ed, mind wandering to Winry and Paninya and their incredibly lucky love. Shock jolted him when he realised none of the thoughts were accompanied by jealously.

“My father, the Emperor, doesn’t like his children having soulmates. He likes to choose who we get to marry. For political purposes, of course.”

Ed had never heard Ling sound so resentful. It raised hairs on his neck.

“Rumour has it that when we manifest our marks, he has our soulmates found and killed.”

Ed felt sick. “And... you’re sure it’s not just a rumour?”

“It’s about the only thing I’m sure is true in regards to my father. It’s very him, to murder children.”

“Shit, dude, that sucks. And I thought my dad was a dick.”

Ling laughed again. It sounded less morbid than before. More real. “That’s one way to put it. Anyway. When I was thirteen, the Emperor found someone for me to marry.” His eyes misted over. Lost. Ed entertained the thought of reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers together. “I knew there was no way my soulmate was still alive. My father’s very thorough when he wants someone dead.”

“What about Lan Fan? She’s your soulmate. I saw the mark.”

“I’m getting to it. Lan Fan — her mark manifested right after my marriage was arranged. It was tiny, right at the base of her back. We’re best friends as well as prince and bodyguard, you know. I was only one she told.”

Nothing made sense. Ed felt like he was falling, the ground ripped out from beneath him. Nothing made sense anymore. He wanted to ask what the hell Ling was on about, if he’d hit his head, but forced the urge back.

“I didn’t want to marry a stranger chosen by my father. I couldn’t stand the thought. Lan Fan knew that, and — and she gave up everything for me, so I didn’t have to marry.” Ling’s eyes were lined with wet tears but his voice didn’t waver. He looked childish for a fleeting moment that was stolen by the wind as quickly as it appeared.

“I don’t understand.” Ed watched the way Ling’s hair was whipped about his head by the force of the air rushing past. His own golden strands did the same, only much less majestic.

“She got my mark tattooed on her so she could pretend she was my soulmate. So I could get out of the marriage.”

The wind howled louder, louder, louder. Ed stuttered, “It’s not a real mark?”

“No.” Ling’s tears spilled. Silent.

“But your father — he killed your soulmate. He’d know Lan Fan’s mark was faked, wouldn’t he?” The world wouldn’t stop spinning. Ed gripped the edge of the carriage hard enough for the metal to dent under the force of his steel hand.

“Marks can be similar. We relied on him thinking he’d killed the wrong kid with a black mark on their chest.”

“Did — did he think that?”

“Yes. I mean, I think so. I might return to Xing and find out otherwise. He could still have Lan Fan killed. Or me. Not much I can do about that.” He scrubbed at his cheeks, smudging the tears.

Against his better judgement, Ed raised his hand, trembling the whole way up. Ling’s cheek was wet as he wiped his thumb across the tear tracks. He froze, entirely still under Ed’s touch.

“Fuck, Ling, I’m sorry. I feel like a dick.”

Ling shook his head and cracked a smile. “Can’t blame you. I think I would’ve acted the same if I thought the person I was madly in love with had a soulmate already.”

Ed choked on air. He spluttered, face agonisingly hot. “Madly in love?”

Ling’s closed eyes curved upwards with his grin. “You’re awful at keeping secrets. Greed kept saying you had a thing for me — actually, he said you were hard for me, but that’s not the point—”

“What the _fuck_?!” Ed screeched. He knew he must be an alarming shade of red and found himself hoping that it was too dark for Ling to see his stained cheeks.

“Oh, you’re all red. That’s so cute!”

Two things happened very suddenly and without warning. The first was a jarring bang as the train jolted, like it had gone over a rough patch of earth or sped round a corner too fast. The second was Ling’s sharp yell of fear as he slipped, thrown forwards from his position by the open door.

Both events happened too fast and in slow motion all at once. Ed saw only the terror in Ling’s eyes and the way his lips moved as if to shout Ed’s name. That was all he needed to see.

He moved by reflex alone, springing forwards with speed fuelled by panic, reaching for Ling as he slipped over the edge. There was an awful forever where he wasn’t going to make it in time, where Ling was going to fall and die and Ed could only sit and watch—

His hand caught Ling’s jacket collar, the sudden weight yanking sharply where his port connected to skin. He grunted. Through the pain, he pulled hard.

He must have overestimated the amount of force necessary, because Ling went sprawling on top of him as they tumbled back in to the carriage. Safe — he was safe. Ed slumped, motionless with relief, head knocking against the floor. Ling began to laugh into his chest, short bursts of giggles that brought Ed’s blush back twice as strong.

“Are you okay?” Ed said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ling said between laughs.

“Stop laughing! What’s funny?”

“Sorry.” His face was warm against Ed’s chest. Slowly, he rose until he leaned above Ed, hands either side of his head. “I told you it was dangerous to sit there.”

The blood pumping too fast through his veins made Ed stutter around words. Ling’s breath was hot on his skin. His black eyes shone like spilled ink and each time they fluttered shut Ed’s heart beat even more out his chest.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Ling whispered, like they were kids hiding under the table and sharing their first crushes in hushed tones. “Greed kept telling me I was madly in love with you too.”

The train rattled louder than ever, roaring in Ed’s ears.

“Are you?” Ed wasn’t sure why he whispered.

Ling smiled, the annoying one that always made Ed want to wipe it off his stupid face with a kiss.

And then Ling was kissing him. It was much deeper than the first time, forceful and biting and entirely welcome. Ed gasped around it, pushing his head up to crash their lips together further, drowning in the smell of sweat and the taste of the alcohol Greed liked to drink. He found himself addicted to it, as awful as it was, pulling Ling down by the lapels until they couldn’t have been pressed tighter together.

Ling pulled back lazily, blinking owlishly at Ed like he was making his mind up. He hummed. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Edward Elric, I am madly in love with you.”

Ed freed his hands from Ling’s jacket to cover his face and say between his fingers, “That’s so fucking cheesy.”

Laughing, Ling took one of Ed’s hands and pressed a chaste kiss to it. Was he trying to win a fucking award for the most hopelessly cliche confession?

Ed might as well join in, since they’d got this far.

“I love you too, asshole.”

“Hopelessly?”

“Hopelessly.”

Ling kissed him again. Kissing, Ed decided, was very, very good.

———

It was strange, unreal, knowing they may probably, almost definitely, die soon. 

They didn’t wander into civilisation often, keeping to woodland and out of the way country paths. When they did sneak into a town — to get supplies or find a newspaper or because Greed got cranky as shit when he didn’t have a shower on occasion — Ed felt sick to his stomach.

Ling asked him what was wrong, once. Ed almost lied.

Eventually, he said, “All these people will be dead by the end of the year and they don’t even know it.”

Ling took his hand. His skin was warm, hot, almost too much so, and Ed clung to it, his anchor in a raging sea.

“They won’t die. They won’t,” said Ling. “We’ll save them.”

Ed didn’t usually fall for false comforts like that. He knew from experience how naive they were, how foolish you’d have to be to convince yourself the odds weren’t against you.

Maybe it was the way Ling kissed him that convinced him to fall.

———

Ling was always saying sappy bullshit. Way too over the top stuff, honeyed and caramelised and doused in sugar. Ed always had been a sucker for sweet things.

One night, in the dying light of the fire, Ling turned to him, threading his hands through Ed’s hair. Ed melted into the buttered touch.

“Your hair is like woven sunlight. Your eyes speak a thousand stories and your smile begs to be bottled so I can get lost in it whenever I want.”

Ed choked on his canned peaches. Ling continued playing with his hair like he hadn’t just spewed poetry.

“What the fuck does that _mean_?”

“You have a very pretty smile.”

Ed thumped himself on the chest, willing the peaches to go down. He coughed. “Right. Yeah, sure.”

Ling pecked a kiss on his nose. On the other side of the fire, Darius threw an empty can at them, complaining about how horny teenagers should get a room.

“We’re not horny,” said Ed.

“Alas, there are no rooms in the forest,” said Ling at the same time.

———

Mom. Winry. Nina. Alphonse.

That was the order in which Ed watched people die in his dreams.

Not all his dreams were the same, of course. But there was one that haunted him every few days — weeks if he was lucky — that woke him in a cold sweat, cheeks bloody from biting them in sleep.

In the familiar dream, Ed was six again. It started with mom, smiling in the tomato fields. When Ed blinked her skin was stretched tight over her protruding bones, eye sockets empty, blood frothing at her shrivelled lips and organs spilling from her open rib cage.

Then Ed stumbled, turning, and Winry was there, also six and wide eyed and impossibly innocent. She fell to her knees, hands clutched to her throat, choking around nothing. A dull thud as her body hit the ground. Her hands twitched once, twice. Lifeless.

Next, Ed ran. He always did, even though it never got him anywhere. He ran through the stretching halls of his childhood home, crashing into walls in his uncoordinated haste. He turned a corner. Skidded to a stop in Shou Tucker’s lab. A little girl with long brown braids stood next to a dog twice as tall as her. _Big brother,_ she would say, and then she and the dog would become one.

And then, and then, just to add the cherry on the trauma cake, the lab was the basement and Alphonse stood at his side. He watched, just as helpless as the first time, while his little brother screamed and wailed as his body was removed from existence.

Only people Ed loved, really loved, ended up in his horrific nightmares from hell. Which is why, when Ed dreamt of a blade going in one side of Ling’s neck and coming out the other, he knew he was in deep shit.

He woke to blood in his mouth and Ling hovering above him.

“Were you having a nightmare?” said Ling. If Ed hadn’t been on the verge of throwing up, he would have mocked Ling for how worried he sounded. Rather than risking answering and spilling up his meagre dinner, Ed nodded mutely.

Ling pushed lank, sweat-soaked hair back from Ed’s forehead. Ed moved his head towards the touch, not possessing the energy to care that he was acting like a mutt searching for attention. Ling obliged, rubbing and scratching at his roots.

“Do you want to talk about it? The dream?”

“Mmh.” Ed closed his eyes. Breathed slowly. “People dying. People I care about.”

“Alphonse?” Ling’s voice was soft, soothing. Ed floated in it.

“Yeah. And you too,” mumbled Ed. His tongue was heavy in his mouth.

“Me?”

“You died in my dream. That was... that was new...” Ed’s words slurred. Ling didn’t stop stroking his hair.

“Oh. I’m here now. Alive, see?”

Ed cracked one eye open. It was too dark to see much more than Ling’s shadowed outline. Whining, Ed pulled him closer until he lay next to him, noses brushing and breath mixing.

“Alive,” said Ed. _For now_ sat uncomfortably afterwards.

“Alive.”

Sleep claimed Ed. He didn’t dream that night. He didn’t dream that week, either.

———

“You and... Winry, yes? That was her name, wasn’t it?” said Ling from beside him as they walked. The sun was dipping below the horizon.

“Um. Yes?” Ed wasn’t sure where this was going.

Ling wrinkled his nose and tilted his head, searching for the right words. It was adorable. “Was there a thing with you two?”

“A thing?”

“Are you partially deaf?” The cute part about that was that Ling wasn’t even joking; Ed knew for a fact that his question was entirely serious and slightly concerned.

“No, I’m not, dipshit. And — yeah, there was a thing. I guess. But it’s over now. We’re just really good friends.” Ed wasn’t jealous. Not anymore. It felt good.

“Why did it end? The thing.” Ling was so damn curious all the damn time. Ed found he didn’t mind because it meant Ling was always asking questions, and Ling’s annoying voice was the prettiest thing Ed had ever heard.

“She found her soulmate.” Maybe Ed sounded a little too distant. He wasn’t hurting, but he remembered how much it hurt, once.

“Oh. Did you love her?” So many questions. Ling would start talking to the trees if no one else was around, Ed was sure.

“I thought I did,” said Ed, tugging at his shirt hem and twirling his hair between his fingers. “But I wasn’t. I was in love with the idea of having a soulmate. Desperate, even, I guess. Desperate enough to convince myself I needed one to prove my, like, self worth. Shit, I dunno. Feelings or whatever.”

“That was beautiful. Like poetry.”

“Shut up.” Asshole. Beautiful, beautiful asshole. They walked in silence for a minute, and then Ed said, “What about you and Lan Fan? I know her mark is fake, but were you ever... real? The two of you?”

Ed wasn’t sure why he was scared of the answer. He wasn’t sure of much anymore.

“No,” said Ling, “Never like that. Best friends, that’s all.”

The only noise was the crunch of leaves underfoot. Ed felt certain Ling was telling the truth. The relief of it sated the doubt that had been lurking in the back of his mind.

“My parents didn’t have matching marks,” Ed said.

“Oh. You don’t need to tell me this, Ed, I know that you—”

“No, no, I want to. You told me shit about your... life, remember? It’s equivalent exchange.” Ed crossed his arms. Ling snorted.

“So my mom’s mark was this shiny white colour, right in the centre of her forehead. It looked like a scar. I never saw my dad’s one.” Ten years since he had seen either of them. It was cruel, Ed thought, that he should remember his father so well and his mother so little. His happiest memories seemed to fade the most. “Guess it’s possible he didn’t have one.”

Ling frowned, listening intently, and said, “Do you think being markless is genetic?”

It wasn’t a possibility Ed hadn’t dwelled on before. “Probably not. If it is, man, fuck that dude.”

Ed sank into Ling’s laughter. He shook his head, clearing it. “Yeah, well, it’s not too uncommon for people to marry someone who isn’t their soulmate,” Ed said, thoughtful. “People get tired of waiting, y’know? I mean, supposedly, you’re meant to be drawn to them or whatever until you meet them at least once.”

“So why’s it so weird that your parents didn’t have matching marks?” Ling sounded like a child begging for the next part in a story. It made Ed a little less self-conscious.

“She was nineteen. Hadn’t even had time to look for her soulmate.”

“Married at nineteen?”

“Not even married.”

“Did they love each other?”

“He left her.”

“But did they love each other?” Ling said, softer.

“Yes,” said Ed, adopting the same gentle tone. “They did.”

Ling halted. Ed walked for a few more steps, then turned, brow creased. 

“What’re you stopping for?”

Movements slow, languid, Ling stepped forwards and hooked his arms around Ed’s back, pulling him close. He pressed his face into Ed’s hair, breathing slowly, and Ed realised for the first time that he had actually grown some recently. He was as tall as Ling’s shoulders, now. It made him giddy but, somehow, the thought of ever outgrowing Ling was in no way attractive to him.

“Are you smelling me? Like a dog? Oh my god, are you—”

“I won’t leave you. It doesn’t matter that you’re markless and my soulmate is dead. It doesn’t matter. I love you.”

Ed groaned into Ling’s shirt. “You’re so fuckin’ sappy. God. I love you too.”

“This is quite romantic, isn’t it? Defying fate. It would make a good Xingese legend. Though those usually end in tragedy, so forget that...” Ling trailed off, frowning.

“Fuck fate. Suck my dick, stars!” Ed pulled away from Ling to throw his head back and holler to the sky. He flipped off a passing bird. Ling dissolved into laughter.

They parted and continued walking, hands laced together. Ed was momentarily able to forget the dread resting on his nape.

———

On the morning of the Promised Day, Ed’s eyes found Ling’s across a clearing of people less important than him. Ling nodded slightly, and they slipped away deeper into the forest.

Alone, Ling cupped his face and kissed him like they would never touch again. The looming possibility, almost surety, that this would be the last time sat heavily between them.

“Don’t die, asshole,” Ed murmured into Ling’s jaw.

“Greed says thank you and he’ll try his best,” Ling said.

Ed smiled. It felt fragile, like he would crack open if he tried to force it any further.

———

He took each step slowly, the bruises and cuts across his legs weighing him down until breath came in animal pants. His clammy hand gripped the railing like a lifeline. The other arm hung limply at his side, weak from five long years of disuse.

Making it to the door at the top of the steps felt like an accomplishment and Ed hated every second of it. Upon opening it, he shivered almost violently at the sudden chill. He crossed the roof slower than he would have liked, eventually coming to overlook the city.

Since Al had gotten his body back — not, what, five hours ago? It felt longer yet still false, dream-like — Ed had hovered at his side, growling at anyone who tried to pry him away from Al’s hospital bed. In the end, Mei told him to get some fresh air while Al slept. It was obvious she was close to Al before, but upon seeing his soul mark for the first time, she burst into tears and sobbed about how she knew they were destined for each other. It was pretty cute in a way.

There was slight thud from behind him. Ed tensed and then relaxed when a voice spoke, soft and stagnant in the still, frigid air.

“Hey,” Ling said.

Ed didn’t turn around to face him. “I thought you were already off back to Xing.”

“I figured we should probably get supplies before crossing the desert.” Footsteps came closer. Ed knew that Ling could walk silently if he wanted to. “And I wanted to say goodbye. Properly.”

“Is this goodbye?” Still Ed gazed at the horizon. Ling’s presence was warm behind him, almost touching but not quite. Before Ling could reply, Ed said, “I have my arm back now, y’know. No soul mark on it. I didn’t see a mark on my leg in the Gate either.”

Ling’s breath caught not inches from Ed’s ear. “Did you want there to be?” It was like he wasn’t even trying to hide his fear.

Finally, Ed spun around. Ling’s eyes were no longer Greed’s rich purple but the dark black that Ed had fallen for in the first place. He had to strain his neck to meet them, though not as much as before.

“No,” Ed said. “I didn’t.”

Head bowed, Ling stepped closer until their noses bumped awkwardly, freezing cold to the touch. Their heartbeats were racing too erratically to sync. Ling lifted Ed’s hand — his new, flesh hand, empty of a mark but full of so much more life than the steel that had replaced it — and pressed a chaste kiss to his knuckles.

“Sap,” Ed said. Ling smiled against his hand. Ed bit his lip. “I’ll miss you. Fuck.”

“Then come with me.”

Four words spoken in a hushed whisper and Ling had him winded. Ed struggled to remember how to breathe.

“We don’t have to go back to Xing,” Ling carried on. He lowered Ed’s hand and put his lips to his forehead. “We can go wherever you want. No one will find us.” A light kiss on his nose. “We’ll never have to say goodbye.”

Ling kissed him fully. One last desperate attempt to convince him; it was softer, slower, twice as tender as every other impatient time before when they believed death waited for them. Sweet like sugar.

“I can’t,” Ed murmured. It broke him.

Ed knew he wasn’t imagining the wetness on Ling’s cheeks when it smudged onto his own. Ling laughed once, humourlessly, a sharp bark. “I know,” he said.

“I love you,” Ed gasped into Ling’s mouth.

“Who’s the sap now?” Ling said. He pulled back to study Ed’s face, drinking in every curve and scar. “I love you too.”

Ling blinked, tears gathering in his lashes. Ed wiped them away, biting back a yelp when he made contact with Ling’s ice cold skin. Ling sighed, eyes closed again, and took Ed’s hand from his face. He pressed something small and cold into the palm.

“What the...?” Ed said, holding the object up. It was a dirty gold colour, crusted with mud and possibly blood, the size and shape of a cenz but with a perfect hole through the centre.

“It’s a Xingese coin,” said Ling, putting it back into Ed’s palm and closing his fist around it. “To remember me by.”

“I don’t need some dumb mark or whatever to remember you,” Ed protested. He made a face.

Ling broke down into peals of laughter again. Why he was always doing that, Ed would never understand. It was weird. Ling was weird.

“You’re weird,” Ed said. When Ling didn’t stop laughing, Ed stepped back and growled, “What the hell’s so funny, asshole?” He sounded petulant to his own ears.

Ling grinned through his dying laughs. “Nothing, nothing...” He closed his hands around Ed’s, the coin at the centre. “I know you don’t need a mark. But have one anyway, for me?”

“Fine.” Ed frowned, staring down at their joined hands. They were gradually warming. “I would give you an Amestrian coin but I’m completely broke.”

“That’s okay. I’ll remember you every time I wear shoes. Never will I forget the time you fed me one.”

“Dick.” Ed knew tears were building. He couldn’t look up and face the shame of letting Ling see them. “This isn’t goodbye.”

“No,” Ling said. He took his hands away and with it his warmth. Ed shivered.

When Ed looked up, the roof was empty of anyone but him.

He went back inside.

———

“I’m in, uh — crap, where the fuck am I? Creta? Yeah, Creta, I reckon—”

“Language, brother,” Alphonse chided, voice tinny over the weak phone connection. Ed whacked the receiver, cursing it liberally.

“Shitty station phones.” Ed stuck his tongue out at a woman who glared at him and covered her child’s ears. It was immature, he knew, and at eighteen he was technically an adult, but old habits died hard. “Can’t hear anything over the trains coming in. You cross the desert fine?”

“I wouldn’t be speaking to you now if I hadn’t. I’m at the royal palace.”

“Hell, already? You met with Ling yet?”

“Yeah. It’s about midnight here. Ling held this huge welcome banquet and got drunk enough to pass out on the roof. Lan Fan freaked out.”

Ed forced down something ugly that rose in his gut; Al had been guilt stricken that Ed’s automail prevented him from crossing to Xing. Ed insisted it was fine. He knew his little brother wasn’t stupid enough to completely believe that.

“That idiot. Can’t believe he’s the emperor of a whole goddamn country,” muttered Ed. Al laughed and Ed smiled to himself.

“He told me to say hi the next time I spoke to you,” Al said.

“Wait.” Ed knitted his brow. “If there’s a phone there why doesn’t he call me himself?”

“Huh. I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t know how phones work.”

“Right. Yeah.” Ed swallowed.

Al, ever the observant, perfect, compassionate brother, noticed the flat tone in Ed’s voice. “He misses you. I can tell. I think everyone can tell, actually.” There was a smile in the softness of his words.

“Tell him...” Ed paused, uncertain. He felt for the coin in his pocket, running his thumb over the familiar edges and nicks. His constant touching of it had rubbed it clean, polished, since Ling had given it to him that sunset on the hospital roof. “Tell him I miss his dumb ass face.”

“Maybe not in that wording, but yes, I will.” There was a muffled noise on Al’s end of the line. “Ah, I’ve got to go. Stay safe, okay?”

“I will. Love you, Al.”

“Love you, brother.”

The call cut off with an extended beep. Ed set the phone down. Distantly, he recognised a whistle blowing. His train was about to depart yet he could only stand and stare at the machine. Like it would ring again and he’d pick it up and Ling’s gushing voice would blare out the speaker. He squeezed his eyes shut.

On the third whistle, he slipped into the crowd, pocket heavy with a single coin and heart light with something like hope.

———

He sat on the throne at the top of the steps, features a picture of clean lines and sharp angles. Black hair was pulled back from his pale face. It collected in a bun atop his head and was held with a gold clasp, metal surface shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight that weaved its way through the high, ornate windows.

He didn’t look like Ling Yao.

He looked like a king.

Or, Ed reconsidered, an emperor. Six years since Ling had gone home to Xing. Six years for Ed to test the way the title _Emperor Ling Yao_ sounded on his tongue and yet it was still so horribly foreign. Too regal to belong to the teenager he’d fallen for.

“Edward,” Ling said, clear and commanding and full of razor sharp authority. “It’s been too long. You’ve gotten taller.”

Ed looked down at himself. Heat rushed to his cheeks when he realised his disheveled state, clothes rumpled and shoes scuffed with dirt and sand. He could only imagine how much worse he’d be if he actually had to cross the desert for himself; the new train system covering the vast expanse of land was a blessing in the plainest sense of the word. Glancing behind him, he realised he’d tracked sand across the throne room’s polished floor. To say he felt out of place in the presence of royalty would be an understatement.

“Thanks. You’ve gotten... fuller,” Ed murmured. Fuller. _Fuller._ Out of all the adjectives. He resisted the overwhelming urge to walk out and hide for the rest of forever. “I mean, like — you’ve grown. Matured. Not... fuller.”

Ling tilted his head to the side and the gesture seemed like it was the only thing about him that remained the same. The last remnants of the Ling that Ed once knew.

“I trust you had a good journey here,” Ling said.

“I did. Alphonse says hello, by the way. He got home from his travels last year.” Ed shifted his feet, attempting to scrub dirt off the floor but only making it worse. He stilled. “I’m glad I could finally visit.”

Silent, ghostly, Ling stood. “Let’s walk, hm?”

Mutely, Ed nodded. He waited until Ling descended the stairs before following him out the door, careful to keep a few paces behind. The further they walked, the more Ed became aware of Ling’s powerful strides and straight-backed gait and the clean jasmine that wafted from his pressed clothes. It filled Ed’s lungs.

Halls seemed to stretch. After a while, Ed was panting as he attempted to keep up with Ling. They were both twenty-two yet Ling was still disproportionately taller. Ed thought about commenting on it, maybe acting chagrined, but the heavy tension in the air kept him from opening his mouth. He feared his heart would fall out if he did.

Eventually, a draft made itself known from further down the hallway. Ed almost sagged with relief. Ling halted and pushed open a grand set of double doors that weren’t dissimilar in size and detail to Ed’s own portal of Truth. He looked away, eyes fixed on his feet as he trailed Ling into fresh air.

It was late autumn; back home in Resembool frost already decorated the burnt orange trees each morning. Xing, however, still maintained the slight humidity that Ed associated with September afternoons. Sunlight heated his exposed skin, tamed minutely by a subdued chill in the breeze as it caressed his hair. His eyes fluttered closed.

“It’s lovely outside, isn’t it?” Ling said evenly from beside him. Ed had never known him to small talk.

“Yes.”

“Open your eyes.” Ling spoke so softly that his words were almost lost to the air.

Ed obeyed and was caught off guard when he found they were in a garden. It was like the ones Ling had described on those late nights by the fire, when neither of them wanted to sleep for fear of the things they saw when they closed their eyes. So they talked about whatever came to mind: decorative gardens and food that meant home and who taught them to fight like it was all they had to give.

Winding stone paths. Still ponds of the clearest water. Trees in hues of molten reds. And flowers — many, many flowers. All yellow as far as Ed could tell.

“Holy fuck,” Ed breathed. He clapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, shit, uh—”

And Ling laughed. It bubbled from his lips in warm streams.

“That’s the Ed I know,” Ling managed.

“What’s that supposed to mean, you arrogant dick—”

“Do you know why all the flowers are yellow?”

Ed was thrown. He could have sworn Ling took pride in being utterly confusing.

“They ran out of all the other colours at the store?” Ed said, only half joking.

Ling’s lips tightened as he forced back a smile. Ed’s heart stuttered. He’d missed that face, mischievous like it belonged on a boy rather than a leader.

“It’s the same reason I had this garden built on the West of the palace,” Ling continued like Ed hadn’t spoken. Ed was lost. He let Ling continue with his cryptic bullshit. “When the sun goes down, it bathes everything in that warm golden light. You know what I’m talking about, yes?”

“I... Yes?” Ed had never been one for nature.

And then Ling faced him, stepping close enough for his long robes to brush against Ed’s legs. Very suddenly, Ed was reminded of what it was to be fifteen again, heart pounding with love sickness at the slightest touch. He couldn’t hold back a gasp as Ling leant forwards to whisper in his ear.

“I made this garden for you,” Ling said. “I filled it with golden flowers and golden light and golden lanterns for when the sun fades. Because the first thing I fell in love with when I saw you was your eyes. Golden. I wanted to see them again so much, God, you don’t even know. But I couldn’t. So I had to make do with a garden of gold. It was never enough.”

Ed felt weak. Trembling, he slumped forwards, burying his head in Ling’s chest as his shoulders were caught by two warm hands.

“Are you alright?” Ling said.

“I thought...” Ed swallowed. “I thought after six years you’d grow out of your sappy phase.” He pressed his nose into Ling’s collarbone.

“It’s not a phase. I’m a romantic person.”

“Oh?”

His chin was tipped up into a kiss. Ling tasted just as he remembered — far too sweet and much too enticing. He flung his arms around Ling’s shoulders, perhaps slightly over enthusiastically, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. They sank into each other like they had never been apart.

“Oh,” Ed said when he pulled away.

“Oh,” Ling said. His cheeks were flushed. Gently, he tugged Ed’s hand until he was dragged along after him, further into the garden. They stopped in the centre of an arched bridge above a pond.

“Hey, Ling...” Ed murmured, studying the enrapturing way in which the water flowed beneath their feet.

“Yes?” Ling said.

“Why didn’t you ever call? On the phone.”

Ling’s focus moved to the water, away from Ed’s eyes. “Why didn’t you visit earlier?”

“Automail. Desert.”

“Lan Fan made it alright.”

Words failed Ed for an awful moment. Finally, he said, “I thought you moved on from me. I didn’t want to come here and be different people with separate lives and our own people to love.”

Ling’s attention snapped back to Ed like a string pulled taught. He spoke with such intensity that Ed blanched. “No. Never could I find someone to replace you. Even when I wanted to, when everyone told me it was for the best — I couldn’t.”

Ed gripped the wooden railing hard enough to paint his knuckles stark white. “Me too. Of course, me too. I just... we’re not even soulmates. There’s nothing stopping us from choosing someone else. No mark, no fate, no nothing.” He didn’t need to say _I was so scared_ out loud for it Ling to hear it.

“There is something,” Ling said. He placed his hand on Ed’s where it rested atop the railing. Ed recognised an old scar on his thumb but there was a new, longer one on the back of his hand, pale white in the fading yellow light. “I love you. That’s why I can’t move on.”

“I love you too.” 

Ed had imagined how it would feel to be able to say that to Ling’s face for years. He had imagined feeling happy, relieved, finally satisfied. Now, with Ling’s dark eyes staring into his, Ed failed to describe the sheer, buzzing euphoria filling him until he was ready to burst at the seams.

“Can’t believe you built a whole fuckin’ garden for me.”

Ling’s grin was wide and unapologetic and so very in love. It stole Ed’s breath knowing his probably looked the same.

A slight breeze ran its fingers through the golden flowers. Birds chirruped, filling the space with life so vibrant if refused to go unnoticed. The sunlight bathing the garden crept down Ed’s back, warming his spine like sticky syrup.

“Stay a while,” Ling whispered. His voice wavered, just barely. “This could be our garden.”

“How long is a while?”

“However long you want it to be.”

Ed bit his lip. Reverently, his hand travelled up Ling’s chest to drag across his neck and cup his face. Ed breathed in. Out. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again Ling was gazing at him like he was looking upon a god.

“Okay,” Ed said. “I’d like that.”

They stayed in the garden until the sun fell below the trees and the lanterns flickered to life, gold moons hanging on the cheek of the dark night. Even then, with the light gone and cold settling in, they stayed. Each other’s warmth was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every bit of this I wrote very late at night so if smth doesn’t make sense or whatever pls let me know
> 
> fyi I realised after writing the bit where ed says “suck my dick stars” that it accidentally paralleled the part in romeo n juliet when romeo says “I defy you stars” hell yeah™
> 
> hhh ngl im not entirely satisfied with this chapter. might go back and rework it at some point. either way, I had a lot of fun writing this fic and im very grateful to everyone who read!! thank u loads <3
> 
> my tumblr is @steamedbunns come say hi


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